


The Buddy System

by kleine_aster



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst and Humor, Anxiety, Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 10:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15289821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/pseuds/kleine_aster
Summary: A little Two-Shot about Komahina trying to find common ground after the events of SDR2, despite the fact that Hajime has anxiety and Nagito can't into empathy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set between SDR2 and DR3. I ship these two really hard and I swear I wanted this to be way more romantic than it turned out! It still is though, at heart. I hope.

"A 'Buddy System'?" Kazuichi asks, making air quotes.

Fuyuhiko rolls his eyes. "What kind of Freshman Week Intro-to-Social-Studies hell is this? We've enough shit to deal with!"

"Is this about holding hands or somethin'," Akane inquires. It's unclear if that would make her like it more, or less.

Hajime wrinkles his brow. "Nekomaru. Explain."

"Uh," the Ultimate Team Manager lazily scratches his bearded cheek. "Didn't think it needed explaining. It's what it is. A buddy system. Everyone gets a buddy to look after. I mean, we all look after each other, right? And that's fine. But having a buddy means you'll have a friend who's always there for you, and nobody's left on their own. Some people here need it."

He's not naming names because he doesn't have to.

Fuyuhiko scoffs and folds his arms. "Cool, and then when your _buddy_ decides to, I dunno, burn the fucking Ranch to the ground, it's _your_ fault. Great."

There's a small, awkward pause until Sonia pipes up. "Well, I mean. Hiyoko burned it down last week, so technically, that's not a concern anymore."

"I'm talking about the principle," Fuyuhiko points out, exasperated.

Kazuichi sighs. "It really sucks, I liked that cow."

Akane pouts. "I was gonna eat that cow."

"Gundham named that cow," Sonia feels compelled to say. "He was inconsolable."

Nekomaru takes that opportunity to slam his massive fist into his hand, making them all jump. "And _that's_ why we need the buddy system!"

"I move that we all hear what Hajime has to say," Sonia announces, and then they all look at him at the same time.

It startles him, but not as much as it used to. It's often like that, now. There's something about his calm demeanor that seems to give them… well.

Hope.

Nevermind the fact that he's this calm because a chunk of his soul literally died.

He ponders it for a moment. Nekomaru's idea takes the shape of looming disaster in his mind, but so does everything really, so that's not conclusive. A bored, husky voice inside him whispers, _(this sounds like a chore)_ , but he's used to that by now. And besides, that's kind of what it sounds like.

But it's an opportunity, too.

They need those.

"I don't think he's wrong?" He offers.

It's not meant to sound like a question, but it does, and he sees the others deflate a little. But they still seem intrigued. Well, Fuyuhiko less so, but Kazuichi, Akane and Sonia look like they want to give it a try.

Nekomaru has found the five of them at the pool, where they were hanging out together after dinner, for some reason. It's still kind of a mystery because they don't really have that much in common. But as it turns out, dragging each other kicking and screaming from certain Ego Death does something. Hajime has never had siblings, but whenever he sees them now, he feels like he knows what it's like. He can't say he gets it, and none of them talk about it, but it's there. And others on the Island sense it. They try not to have hierarchies, but they do, because they're from Hope's Peak Academy and it's in their bones now. That's probably why Nekomaru has come to them first.

"I mean," Hajime says, when he notices them all still looking, "The way things are going -"

"You mean 'like shit'?" Fuyuhiko smiles wryly.

"Hey, it's not that bad," Kazuichi protests, but he's unconsciously tugging at the bandage around his broken nose, flinching as he reaches a spot that's still raw.

"Do not touch that," Sonia snaps, real concern bleeding into the annoyance in her voice.

Hajime looks at them and presses his lips together.

It's not going like shit, exactly - nobody has died, or relapsed into Despair, no planes have come to darken the skies and rain fire on them to send them to their rightful graves - but …-

But it's not going great. That much is true. It has been a rough couple of weeks, and they haven't even begun to wrap their minds around what they have done, to each other, and to the world at large. They don't know if they ever will.

Forgiving others is hard; trying to forgive yourself is indescribable.

Some days are fine, like now, with Akane cooling her long legs in the pool and Sonia sipping on a colorful drink that Teruteru made her (after both Hajime and Fuyuhiko have tasted it and confirmed that there's nothing else in there but shaved ice and fruit). On other days, they have to talk Mikan down from a window ledge. Or put out the fire that Hiyoko has started on the Ranch, for which she says she's sorry, but not why she did it. Whether she wanted to die, or wanted them all to die, or maybe only wanted the fire to burn something away that was inside of her and that she couldn't get rid of. And it's not only the formerly dead ones, either. A few days ago, Kazuichi crashed a beach buggy headfirst into a palm tree on the beach, nearly driving his nose through his skull, and he says it was an accident and nobody believes it. He had to have done something to that thing to even make it go that fast. And only a few days before that, Sonia - _Sonia!_ \- had locked herself in her bathroom after taking a whole bunch of pills. They'd had to break down the door to get her.

At least Mikan doesn't attempt to hurt herself so much when she's needed. It makes her happy, actually. She gets better and better at it, too, because it keeps happening and happening.

"Ask 'em if they got an Ultimate," Fuyuhiko had drawled when Hajime had contacted Togami to request a therapist or twelve.

He hasn't heard back yet.

Hope, as it turns out, is like sand, it runs through your fingers. And Hajime thinks that he, being the Ultimate Hope, or at least a factory-built knockoff version of it, should be the one holding it all together. But he can't; all he can do is try,every day, like they all do.

Nekomaru tries a lot. Not too long ago, he'd scheduled a session of 'positive visualization' for all of them, which had resulted in a roomful of infernal screaming as people were having flailing anxiety attacks, violently throwing up on Yoga mats and crying hysterically while tearing at their hair. Nekomaru has concluded that any exercises that encouraged them to 'look inside themselves' were currently not working, and that maybe forming a ping-pong league would be better. His enthusiasm is good, but Hajime knows that he does all this at least partly because he doesn't want to deal with his own crap, either.

"It's not Despair, it's trauma," Hajime has tried to explain to a frowning Nagito, who doesn't understand.

"I don't see the difference," he'd replied.

His gentle voice had sounded cold. He'd very nearly annihilated his own brain in order to give the world a Hope like it had never seen, and now they'd all come out like this, and it's not what he wanted. It's not what he thought it'd be when he'd slithered out of his pod.

It's ironic that Nagito, of all people, doesn't understand trauma. He's been smiling through his for so long that he forgot. Or he's so used to hating himself that he doesn't understand how it'd change someone. Or… something, Hajime really needs those therapists.

He knows enough to know that Nagito's mind is sometimes flexible and sometimes rigid; right now it's rigid, and he can't make the pieces fit and he finds it upsetting. He's getting annoyed, and when he gets annoyed, he'll eventually do something, unless someone does something to him first.

Hajime doesn't want either to happen.

In hindsight, he thinks he should've tried to bullshit him at least a little. He should've said that yes, it's totally Despair, but they'd all overcome it together and this time he'd be around to see it and it would be so beautiful. He'd called Hajime a terrible actor before - but he could probably trick himself into believing him, if he wanted to. He'd done it before.

But Hajime hadn't said that. Instead, he'd said something earnest and clunky like, "Sometimes it's good when people feel bad."

And Nagito had started smiling in that empty fashion of his, and Hajime knew that he was offended - no, _disgusted_ \- to hear him say that.

"You seem in no mood to talk today," he'd said, with a little bow and that nothing smile plastered across his face, "I'm sure you have more important things to do. Bye now."

And then he'd walked away, and Hajime had gazed after him for a long time. He'd looked as lonely as ever, but more lost than before. Restless. Dissatisified. He needed a purpose, and if he couldn't find one, he'd pull one from out of the haunted funhouse that was his mind, and Hajime doesn't want to find out what it is. No matter what Nagito tells himself - and that might be something different every day, Hajime can't figure it out - he's a snake, and he always will be.

So - 

"A buddy system, huh?" He looks at each of them in turn. "Why not. Let's try it."

"Oh?"  Fuyuhiko shoots him a sly look, and Hajime knows that he knows. "You're thinking of -"

"Yeah."

"So… that means you'll -"

Hajime pinches the bridge of his nose. "Be his _buddy_? Yeah."

He looks up again to see the the sudden relief on all their faces,and realizes that they'd all hoped he'd say that, and that maybe he should've done that all along, before this whole idea even came up.

Even Fuyuhiko looks like he's warming up to it now. "I see," he mutters, voice low. "That might work."

Hajime can't stop a deep sigh from escaping his mouth. A moment later, he nearly gets catapulted into the pool when Nekomaru heartily slaps him on the back.

"Now THAT is the kind of initiative I want to see," he booms.

"Eh," Kazuichi is scratching the back of his head, but at least he's not messing around with his broken nose anymore. "Will this be okay? I mean, some of us aren't exactly… the nurturing type…"

"You idiot." Akane rolls her eyes at him. "That's why we're doing it! Even _I_ get that. Sorta."

"Social skills are a very important thing to learn," Sonia adds. "And may I say, they are something that was sorely missing from Hope's Peak's curriculum… a-and this Island, too."

"Yeah, we suck at being friends," Fuyuhiko admits.

"Well, then that ends now!" Sonia seems all fired up. "We've been toiling in our own mind prisons of isolated darkness for too long!"

Kazuichi beams at her. "Beautifully, said, Miss Sonia! A-and, may I suggest that -"

She interrupts him as if he'd never started talking, because some things never change. "But wait! We are fifteen. How will this work?"

"No problem. I'll take two." Nekomaru cracks his knuckles. "It'll be good for me!"

"Oh?" Akane twirls a strand of dark brown hair around her finger, looking at her coach. "So who'll be the other one?"

Nekomaru wags a finger in her direction. "No. Nu-uh. Not you. People with… strong relations shouldn't be buddies. That'll only lead to complications. So no Peko Pekoyama for you either," he gazes at Fuyuhiko, who looks positively scandalized. "We should pair up people who don't have intense shit going on with each other. So for example, Sonia and Peko, our Byakuya and Kazuichi, me 'n Teruteru, that sort of thing."

Sonia claps her hands in delight. "Splendid!"

Kazuichi's dented face falls, as any hopes he might have had get dashed to the winds.

"We'll talk about this later," Fuyuhiko grumbles.

"I didn't wanna be your stupid buddy anyway," Akane growls in Nekomaru's direction, kicking up some water and blushing.

Nekomaru directs his attention back to Hajime. "Since you already volunteered, the rule doesn't apply to you," he announces.

Hajime feels heat creep into his cheeks. Is Nekomaru describing him and Nagito as _intense_? Even worse, is he describing them as having _strong relations_?

That's -

…

… well, yeah, but does he have to rub it in like that?

He clears his throat. For a brief, shining moment, he thinks that perhaps he can back out of it. If they're still talking about the rules, and if the buddies aren't assigned yet, maybe this is the moment for him to stand up and say -

Nothing.

He looks at them, looks at how happy or at the very least motivated they all seem to be, and knows he'll say nothing.

He knows he'll do it.

He knows he has to.

"The rule doesn't apply to me, huh?" He asks instead, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Why?"

"You know, 'cuz," Nekomaru looks at him earnestly and shrugs his enormous shoulders. "I already done the math, and I can guarantee you, nobody else wants to do it."

***

They quibble back and forth until the sun sets over the Hotel, but eventually decide that they'll bring it up with the others tomorrow at breakfast, and sort out a buddy system that everyone might like. Hajime suspects that it's the kind of thing they'll argue over for hours, but even that is good; it's better than staring into the yawning abyss that is your soul in paralyzed horror all day. Fuyuhiko's determined face gives away that he's not quite done with the Peko question, though Sonia skips away in search for her to, as she says, "Get a head start on sisterhood!"

Hajime is not skipping. Anywhere.

Before he leaves, Kazuichi of all people asks him if he's okay, and he mumbles something in return, probably that he's fine. He always says he's fine, because someone has to be.  Once he's alone, he gets up, leaves the Hotel site, and starts aimlessly wandering the first Island as if he's been kicked in the head, while Nekomaru's words ring in his ears.

No strong relations.

No intense shit.

He's screwed.

It's for the group, he tells himself. It's all for the group, always. They all want to make it work, on this Island, they want so badly for it to work, and he owes it to them to try. He owes them so much more than that. Even Nagito, who, in his own catastrophic way, always wants to make it work, too.

He knows that.

And yet…

No.  It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that talking to him makes Hajime want to throw up. Mikan has pills for that.

He keeps walking, with no destination in mind.

No-one has ever questioned why he never tried to be friends with Nagito again.Because it seems to make all the sense in the world, and because they don't want to be friends with him, either. So he'd never had to tell anyone why.

He'd never told anyone about what had happened, on Nagito's first day back, when they'd been alone by the pods.

It had felt good, at first. He had liked doing it; doing the Dives, being the one to bring back his friends from the other side, being the first one to greet them, welcome them back. It made him feel like what he'd become could be good for something. It had made him feel hopeful.

Nagito hadn't been his friend, not really, but he was one of theirs anyway, and for whatever insane reason, Hajime had felt hopeful toward him, too.

It had felt good to see him open his eyes, to see the spark of life in them, see the recognition, and the weak but genuine smile that followed. It had felt good to drag him out of his pod, even if the hand Hajime was offered was a lifeless rigor mortis claw that felt cold to the touch. He caught a glimpse of the stitches, the part where Junko Enoshima's body fused with Nagito's, and it was among the 50 worst sights he'd ever seen, which truly meant something, since Hajime and Izuru had seen a thousand bad things. Someone had really tried with the stitchwork, but no amount of trying would've been enough.

He'd swallowed the nausea and smiled, and welcomed him back.

They'd sat on the edge of the pod together; with Hajime talking and Nagito listening,and he'd seen the look of absolute bliss wash over his face as he told him the tale of how they'd bested Enoshima.

It had been going well enough, up to that point.

Nagito wasn't the first one to suddenly grow weak and stumble once he got up for the first time. Hajime was prepared for it, and he caught him and held him. He'd done this with others, too. Nagito was light despite his height, easy to hold on to. His head ended up between Hajime's neck and shoulder and rested there. He could feel his hair tickle his skin and his breath against his neck, and he'd faintly remembered how the other boy - no, man, they were all older now - had always had a thing about being alone with him. But this didn't feel weird. Or awkward. It felt exactly right, no different from the others.

Maybe… maybe a little different from the others.

They'd stayed like that for a while. Hajime held him, and he might've had his eyes closed, and he might've stroked his back, something like that. Nagito was shivering and smelled like gangrene and garbage, but it didn't matter; and then, Hajime had felt his shirt getting wet, because he was crying in his arms. And that had been good, too. It had felt… real, and human, and they all desperately needed more of that.

And he'd nearly started crying himself, if it hadn't been for the words.

"I'm just so happy," Nagito had sobbed against his shoulder, his one functioning hand entangled in his shirt. The words came bubbling out of him, a blunt outburst of emotion after lying dormant for so long. "Everything… everything I wished for came true! I should've never doubted. To become Ultimate Despair, only to destroy Ultimate Despair… how brilliant. I can't believe I didn't see it. I can't believe I didn't see it."

A chill had run down Hajime's spine at that, but he'd kept patting his back, anyway.  "We couldn't have done it without you," he said, and in some really bizarre way it's true.

Nagito's uncut fingernails pinched the flesh of his chest as he cried even harder at that. And then, he'd raised his head and looked at him, his eyes large and wet and mad, and he might've cupped Hajime's face with his good hand and caressed his cheek with his tear-stained fingers, or maybe Hajime has imagined that part, his memory was wonky.

"I knew I wasn't wrong about you, Hajime Hinata," he'd whispered, intoning his name like sweetness and light, "I knew you couldn't be ordinary. I knew you were chosen by Hope."

And that was where it all ended, for him, in an instant.

"Y-Yeah," he'd managed.

His first instinct was to push him away, down on the ground, but he kept stroking him, mechanically, praying that he'd be good enough to stand on his own very soon, because he needed to get away from him. Away from those adoring eyes, looking at him like he was special, which he _was_ , and it was all so wrong, wrong, wrong.

In that moment, Hajime hated him.

_Hated_ him.

He hated him because he hates himself. Hates what he has become. All his life, he'd wanted to become special, and he had torn the whole world apart with his bare hands in the process, and Nagito would never understand how it haunts him. How he pumps himself full of chemicals in order to sleep at night. How he flinches, all the time, when he spots that red-eyed, raven-haired figure in the corner of his 

_ (mind) _

\- eye, in the mirror, in the hallways, in his bed, always slightly outside his vision like a ghost, because it - _he_ \- lives inside him.

Some of the others understand, how it feels. At least a little. But Nagito never would. _He lacks the capacity_ , as Izuru would say, if Izuru could be assed to say or think or feel anything regarding Nagito Komaeda at all, wich he doesn't. That's all Hajime's pile of festering baggage.

He had seen the adoration in Nagito's eyes as he'd looked at Izuru, that one time, and then he'd seen it again, in the way he was looking at him, and it had made him sick.

Anyway, Nagito had mercifully passed out in his arms after that whole thing, and that had been it. They've never spoken of it since. Hajime isn't even sure Nagito remembers.

In the days after that, talking to him went back to being a chore, something he had to do even if it made him uncomfortable. He checked in on his recovery, as he had done for everyone, but he could barely stand it. Nagito was thrilled whenever he came by - _"This is amazing, the last 15 times I went to the hospital, I had no visitors at all!"_ \- filled with brightness and enthusiasm about all the things the Ultimates would do and achieve, always with that slight tint of mania that was so familiar to him. And he didn't recognize the internal scream behind Hajime's forced smile, because how could he.

It grew even more unnerving once he got back on his feet. Hajime had never wanted someone to go back to rehab this much. Nagito attached himself to him like an extremely devoted, unhinged puppy, always with that wild shine in his eyes like Hajime was something amazing, and not some weird patchwork person cobbled together out of broken pieces, which was more in line with how he was feeling. Nagito didn't care about how he was feeling. Hajime was the Ultimate Ultimate now, the culmination of all his hopes and dreams. And he wanted to serve him, in any way he could. It was tiring, no, it was suffocating, and Hajime couldn't give him what he wanted, and it only added to the pile of things he didn't know how to do.

Hajime doesn't want his worship.

He wants -

What?

His friendship?

For him to be someone he's not?

For him to leave him alone?

He doesn't know.

And so, he simply stopped dealing with him unless he had to.

He hasn't taken the time to wonder why Nagito eventually quit trying to seek him out; he was too relieved it was happening at all. Maybe he got the hint, or maybe he thinks of Hajime as a disappointment again, it honestly didn't matter.  It's only now, when he forces himself to think about it, that he realizes what an idiot he is. How unlikely it is that Nagito would pick up on any kind of hint. And how much more likely it is that he's spiraling to some dark place again.

The only thing he can do now is offer him his friendship, if he'll still take it.

Or else.

It's for -

"For the group," Hajime mumbles to himself, as if that would kickstart his toiling brain or his tired heart. He looks around and realizes that he's walked the entire length of the Park for probably the third time. His legs even hurt. He hadn't noticed it.

_ (useless) _

This is useless. He has to turn in for the day, down a handful of those pills Mikan has given him to help him sleep, and that he's pretty sure he's addicted to at this point, and try again tomorrow.

He lets out a groan and staggers out of the Park, heading for the Hotel.

A nervous, quiet hush falls over the Island whenever it gets dark. It never truly sleeps, because none of them ever truly sleep, because that way lie grotesque nightmares. They try to pretend otherwise when they wish each other Goodnight before they head for their cottages, but they all know. It's a choice between a boatload of meds, or pacing all night. Yet, few of them ever leave the Hotel site around this time. Part of their brains still expects a _Ding-Dong-Bing-Bong_ to ring out of crackling loudspeakers that don't actually exist, followed by a giggling voice telling them to hush-hush to their beds; or a _Ding-Dong-Dong-Ding_ followed by something even worse. It still feels forbidden and unsafe out here.

Their Island is haunted, but it's not by ghosts.

Right now, Hajime doesn't mind it that much. He can sense the familiar feeling of dread, creeping around the edges, but he feels calm as he walks by the silent, dormant Beach. He's not afraid for himself. He's never afraid for himself anymore, because on some level he knows that -

_ (if someone tries to kill me i kill them first) _

\- and the air is fresh and crisp and has a chilling effect on whatever's left of his mind tonight, which is more than welcome. Maybe by the time he arrives at his cottage, he'll have cooled off enough to -

...

There's a body.

There's a lifeless body lying on the Beach, in the sand.


	2. Chapter 2

There's a body.

There's a lifeless body lying on the Beach, in the sand.

He's never forgotten what it feels like; it's like a foul taste that never leaves his mouth. He starts shaking, pulse racing as massive Terabytes' worth of bad memories and terror and trauma flood back into his brain. His legs move before he even knows it.

He sprints across the sand, toward the motionless figure. His heart leaps into his throat as he realizes who it is -

_ (oh good he's dead let's go do something else) _

"No!" He shouts, at… himself. Sand flies everywhere as he drops to his knees next to him.

"Komaeda?"

No response. 

He grabs his shoulder and shakes him.

"Nagito…?"

Nothing.

Hajime can't see him breathing. It's almost pitch dark by now, but Nagito is so pale he's basically shimmering. His closed eyes look sunken and his skin looks… dead, but again, it always looks like that, so that doesn't help. He's flat on his back, with a dark plastic back next to him. 

He's cold to the touch when Hajime checks for a pulse.

But it's there. It's faint, but it's there.

Good.

_ (good ?) _

"Shut up," he grumbles.

"I didn't say anything," Nagito replies, startling him.

His voice is weak and creaks like a broken door, like it hasn't been used in hours, or maybe. Days. Wait, is _anybody_ even talking to this guy when Hajime doesn't? It doesn't matter now -

"Not you," he says hastily. "What happened?!"

"Then who -? Oh."

Something makes a rustling sound. Hajime looks down and sees him limply, futilely reach for the black bag with his stump before he abruptly gives up.

"Right." Nagito drowsily blinks at the sky. "No hand."

Hajime snatches the bag from him and peeks inside. His concern immediately turns into anger.  "Cool," he hisses from between gritted teeth. "This is cool. Definitely cool."

He can't believe he passed on the chance to slap him awake when he could.

"You really think so…?" 

Nagito's eyes still look dazed beneath heavy lids. A faint sheen of sickly sweat covers his face. "Thanks. I didn't think you'd -"

"No - that's not what - forget it." He sets the bag aside as far away from Nagito and his good hand as possible. "Never mind that now. Are you hurt?"

He bends down to examine his head with his hands. If he's been hit, if he's concussed, he'll have to wake Mikan. He digs his fingers into his hair. It feels even more unnatural than it looks; he remembers that from that moment by the pods, too. It occurs to him that it'd be easier to nurse him if he -

_ "I do not know if my lap would make a proper pillow… but I shall do my very best!" _

\- but he's not gonna do that.

Nagito's eyes grow a little wider at the contact, then almost roll into the back of his head in an effort to watch Hajime's fingers touching him.

"Do you feel this?" Hajime asks, softly running his fingers across his skull.

"…Yes."

It doesn't sound like pain. Hajime tries to not get distracted.

"Your head seems fine," he reports. It's a weird thing to say to him of all people. "No dents, no bruising. No blood anywhere, either. Nothing that I can see, anyway."

"Nothing you can see, huh," Nagito muses, and for a moment, it's the weirdest deja-vu, like they're the partners they never really were. "So what _can't_ you see?"

"Poison." 

The thought is instant. His mind still works that way.

There's a weak chuckle from below. "Now, wouldn't that be funny, in an ironic way."

"But who would -" 

Hajime stops. The question makes him uneasy. He'd sworn himself he wouldn't think like that anymore.

Nagito's eyes go from loopy to sly so fast it's scary. His scratchy voice is suddenly sharp. "Who do you think, Hajime?"

Hajime gazes down at him and thinks. He allows himself to be lured back into that old web of distrust and fear. He mentally checks off every person on the Island, his friends, one by one. But the answer is clear, because when it comes to him, the answer is always the same.

"Nobody did this. You passed out down here by yourself, didn't you."

The light vanishes from Nagito's eyes, and he knows he's right.

"I wanted to know who you trust the least," he admits, a forlorn smile on his face. "But I already knew it'd be me."

He still has to be pretty out of it if he admits this so freely. He could've given that thing a few more spins to drive Hajime truly crazy if he'd been at full power.

He glares down at him. Was _all_ of this fake…? Did he plant himself out here, with that suspicious bag, in order to be found like this and…? It doesn't seem to make sense, but so do none of his schemes until they suddenly, terrifyingly do.

But no. He'd been out cold when Hajime found him. Probably for a while, too. He looks to be in pretty bad shape; if he'd stayed out here all night -

Hajime suddenly thinks of how he's usually never out on walks at this hour, but how  _something_  had compelled him to keep walking. He feels Nagito's twisted luck extend its hands towards him and it creeps him out, but he shoves the thought away and tries to focus on an explanation of why the other young man would be out here.

When he realizes it, it's so simple it almost disappoints.

"Nagito," he asks, "When's the last time you ate something?"

"…"

"Drank something?"

Nagito thinks about that for a long time, way too long for a smart guy like him. Hajime feels anger bubble up again, but for different reasons this time. He grabs the plastic bag and accusingly dangles it in front of him like a pissed-off camp councellor.

"You were up for hours working on whatever this is, and forgot to eat and drink, is that it?"

Nagito watches him closely. "You're angry," he says, as if he can't make sense of it but likes it, anyway.

"Yeah, alright." Hajime gets up. "That's it. We're going to the kitchen."

"Don't waste your time."  His heavy eyelids fall shut again. "I shouldn't even be alive. Leave me here like the pointless waste that I am. Littering is permitted now, after all -"

"Shut up. And this time, I mean you." Hajime shoots him a stern look, but extends his hand, anyway. Both is lost on Nagito, whose eyes are still closed. But this time, he is _clearly_ faking it.

Hajime lets out an annoyed sigh. "Look, I'm not leaving. You can help me waste less time if you do what I say."

This seems to work, because he gives up on playing dead, at least.

"Can you stand?"

"Yes." 

He tries to sit up and immediately goes woozy. 

"….no."

Great.

Hajime gazes up and down the deserted Beach. How is he gonna -

Nevermind.

He already knows. He doesn't love it. But he knows.

He squats back down next to him. "Put your arms around my neck. From behind. Like so."

Nagito's eyes widen again. "You're very trusting, Hajime. I've always admired that in you."

Hajime rolls his eyes at him. "Oh, come on. You're not going to _strangle_ me on the beach. First of all, you're too weak. Second, if you wanted to kill me, there'd be more -"

He makes a vague, exasperated gesture with his hands. "Stuff."

_ (and i'd kill you first) _

"You flatter me," Nagito says humbly, but then he puts his skinny arms where Hajime wants them.

It works; he can lift him. Their bodies softly collide because Nagito's feet do little to nothing. Hajime feels a small, nervous lurch in his stomach. He's not heavy, but he's still very much… there.

"Legs," he commands. His voice sounds gruffer than he expected.

Somehow, they manage. Nagito brings his legs up around his middle so that Hajime can support them with his arms. He slings the bag around his wrist to keep it safe. He knows that Nagito could probably snatch one of the surgical scalpels that are in it if he really tries, but he decides to believe he won't.

"This is my first piggyback ride," he enthuses from behind him as they start moving.

Hajime doesn't answer. It's only been moments and he's already sweating profusely, and it's not entirely from the exercise. He's suddenly deeply aware of the pair of slender thighs digging into his waist, the weight of the body wrapped tightly around his, and who it belongs to.

"You need a shower, too, by the way," he grumbles, because he does not like how this makes him feel. He doesn't like it one bit.

Besides, it's true. He does need a shower.

He half expects him to say something cheeky, about Hajime helping him into the shower or something, and the fact that he doesn't makes this _weirder_ somehow. He's unusually quiet back there. His body is not that cold anymore. His chin is on Hajime's shoulder, his breath is warm and fast against his face, his legs rub up against his hips with every step, and this piggyback ride is not very whimsical at all.

They make it onto the Hotel premises in a very unsteady zig-zag-line. Ibuki is still awake, by the poolside, and she drops her ukulele - her new favorite - when she sees them approach like that. Her mouth hangs agape. Then, she reaches for her little notebook and furiously starts scribbling down new song lyrics, sneaking little looks at them. Nagito gives her a friendly wave, but she ignores it, too caught up in composing her next masterpiece, and Hajime knows he'll never hear the end of it.

… that's fine.

It's for the group. He's doing this for the group.

His cheeks are red and his shirt is drenched as they finally stand in the darkdoorway of the kitchen. 

"Lights," he says, and Nagito flicks them on. Hajime carries him to the nearest chair.

"Y-You can get off now," he mumbles.

There's a prolonged stretch of silence, long enough that he becomes convinced that Nagito pretends he hasn't heard him.  Eventually, there's a very belated "Oh," as if he'd thought he meant something else.

But he dismounts him, and slides into the chair. Hajime doesn't ask what _that_ was about.

It's suddenly strange not to feel his weight and warmth against his back anymore. He ignores the feeling, and places the black bag on the counter and points at it. "I'm not even going to ask," he declares, "What you were going to do with surgical instruments, a drone, three remote controls, four nylon stockings and a potato, because I really don't want to know. I'm going to return all of this where it belongs, and we'll never talk about it again."

Nagito offers him a blank stare in response. Then he squints, rubbing his temple. "I'm not even sure why I took the third remote," he laments, ashamed. "I really am a failure."

Oh, good. So at least the potato's there for a reason.

Hajime snorts, and then goes and grabs the biggest pitcher he can find, fills it to the brim with cool water and plants it in front of him. 

"Drink."

"That's not necessary," Nagito politely demures, before taking it and downing approximately a liter of water in one go because his throat must be drier than paper.  In the meantime, Hajime opens their giant fridge that's big enough to store a body in, because of course it is, and helplessly peers inside.

"What do you like?" He asks, and regrets it instantly.

"Anything you make, I'd eat, Hajime," Nagito proclaims, "Even if it's shards of glass or razor blades on sliced bread -"

"Why would I - why would _anyone_ -"

He slams the fridge door shut and whirls around, snapping at him. Nagito flinches, in a way that suggests pleasure more than shock.

Okay, easy.

He takes a deep breath.

He'd walked right into that one. And besides, with their history, who knows. Maybe someone has made a razor blade sandwich at some point and someone else has eaten it. He can't even rule that out.

Nagito looks a little rueful as he watches him from large, sunken eyes. "Nothing," he finally says. "The answer is nothing."

Of course.

Why would he know what he likes. He has more opinions on types of torture to inflict on him than he does on food he wants to eat. Hajime should've seen that coming, too. Feeling tired, he opens the fridge again and takes out a couple of things. "Well you're in luck," he huffs, "I can only make one thing anyway, so you're getting that."

"Really."  Nagito tilts his head at him as he watches him work. "Why? The Ultimate Cook is right there."

"It's _Chef_ , and I'm not waking hi - oh." 

Ah, _that's_ what he means. Hajime thinks on it while he slices the lettuce. He doesn't mind keeping his hands busy right now.

The truth is, he can't remember if he ever absorbed Teruteru's talent or not. If it's supposed to be in his muscle memory, then it doesn't show. The ham sandwich he's making looks exactly as basic as it always has. Perfectly mediocre, but serviceable, like he used to be. 

And yet, he knows it'd be easy if he tried. If he took his Talent. It wouldn't be quite as effortless as if Izuru did it, but still easier than if anybody else tried the same. He and Teruteru could take shifts in the kitchen, it'd be such a great help to all of them with all the stuff going on -

He knows it'd be easy and it frightens him how easy it would be.

It's the kind of thing Nagito wants him to think about. And he's not even wrong and Hajime hates it.

"I'll look into it," he says brusquely, even though he doesn't owe him an answer. "For now, you get this."

He walks over with his Reserve Course sandwich and sits down next to him. "Here. I remember you like toast better than rice or something." He sounds a little grouchier than strictly necessary as he shoves the plate at him.

"You remember?"  This seems to tickle him for a moment, but then his faces turns sly again."You know I only said that to get rid of Mahiru, right?"

Hajime simply shrugs, unwilling to engage in that now, and Nagito turns his attention to the food.

"I do like it," he admits. "Toast."

And then nothing happens.

Hajime watches him. He looks at his plate with all the enthusiasm someone would at a brick wall they're about to smash their face into. Come to think of it, he'd probably be way more into that then this. It does not inspire confidence. It's 3 am in the morning because time exists again. It starts to feel like they'll be here forever.

Maybe he's like one of those cats that will only eat if you're not watching them. Or only eat _if_ you're watching them. Hajime rubs his tired face with a soft groan.

"Are you okay?" 

Nagito sounds sincerely worried, entirely focused on him now, because he has that habit of flitting through emotions like a distracted teen flips through pages on their phone. He gives the plate a coy shove and it lands back in front of him.

"Here. Maybe you need it more than me."

Forever. They literally will be here forever.

Teruteru will wake up and come into the kitchen, and he's gonna make breakfast, and all the others will flood into the mess hall and eat, and then Teruteru's gonna make lunch, and then dinner, and then the sun will set and the two of them will still be sitting here with this stupid sandwich -

"Hajime?"

"Huh?"

"What are you doing?"

"R-Right now? Uh -"

The question catches him off guard, but it's good regardless. What _is_ he doing? Why is he still here? He's done all he could, right? He didn't let him curl up and die on the beach. He gave him water. He made a sandwich. He doesn't have to sit here like an over-invested grandparent watching him put it into his mouth, too.

"Don't get me wrong. I like it." A melancholy smile plays around Nagito's lips. "I might like it too much. I'd get dehydrated and black out every day if it meant you'd come find me - "

"Please don't."

"-but I don't understand. I can tell you're annoyed with me. No, that's not it. Oh." He blinks, correcting himself. "You _hate_ me."

Ah.

So he does get hints sometimes.

Hajime awards him the respect of not denying it; they're way past that, and have been for a long time.   "I would do this for anyone here," he says, which is true.

Nagito averts his gaze. He doesn't look quite as manic when he's exhausted. "Mm. You would, wouldn't you. Even for someone like me, who's more trouble than he's worth."

"Yeah." He's too tired to dance around it. "You need to eat."

It doesn't work, because none of this works, because why would it. Nagito doesn't take the food, instead, he suddenly seems overcome with emotion, which is never a good thing. He slumps down in his chair, his shoulders drooping, and then his eyes start to shimmer. Hajime feels a wave of panic wash over him, because if Nagito cries now, it'll lead them even further away from the sandwich situation, and also, it'll make him feel weird.

He doesn't cry, but Hajime can hear the tears in his little laugh as he says, "Isn't that just like me…?" 

He hangs his head, voice and face filling with

_ (despair) _

\- sadness,

"I make _one_ friend -" 

He raises a finger to make the number 1, "And I make him hate me more than he hates anything. It's -"

He stops talking. Apparently he doesn't know what it is. He doesn't even call it his bad luck, that's how off his game he is.

Hajime bites his lip.

His first instinct is to say, _there's things I hate more than you_ , which would be the truth. But -

But it's hard. It's hard to feel cold toward him when he's like this.

He wonders what it's like, sometimes. To love Hope that much and be the biggest magnet for Despair outside of the original. He randomly remembers how Nagito was so frightened to die alone, and then went and did exactly that.

Suddenly, Hajime knows what he wants to say.

It's awkward to look straight at him when he makes sad eyes like that, but he does it, anyway.

"Your friend is dead," he says.

He pauses, startled at his own reaction. He expected that it would suck to say. He hasn't expected it to feel like getting hit in the heart. His hand curls into a tight fist before he continues.

"He died. He - he died, and he's never -"

His throat is closing up, because it still hurts, every day.

"- he's never coming back." 

He feels tears sting behind his eyes. He feels utterly, profoundly lonely. He isn't even sure why he thought that Nagito needed to hear this. He's not the one who - He's - not - 

Oh no.

Oh _no_.

It's not Nagito. It's him. _He's_ the one who desperately needs a friend.

And he'd been so focused on functioning that he's realizing it _now_. When he's about to have a full emotional meltdown at 4 am in the kitchen, in front of the second most poisonous person he's ever known.

He feels a hand on his, and looks down in surprise. Nagito gives him a squeeze as he leans over, his expression serious.

"I know," he says. And then: "I miss him."

Hajime stares at him from burning eyes and tries to figure out if he lies, if this is simply another skin he's trying on. It had sounded kind of real, but -

It doesn't matter because the floodgates open and he starts full-on weeping, anyway.

Dammit.

"Hajime…?"

Now it's Nagito's turn to look panicked. He starts sweating. "Was - was that wrong? Because in that case, I _don't_ miss him. I haven't thought of him at all. He _was_ only a Reserve Course student -"

Hajime sobs louder.

He wants to punch him. He also wants to flop against his shoulder, like they'd been on that first day, and cry forever because it feels horrifically, pathetically good to cry. He realizes they're still holding hands, and pulls away from him. Nagito seems unwilling to let go, but then he does.

"Do you want to wipe your nose on my shirt?" He asks. He sounds concerned, but also like he kind of wants it.

"Shut up," Hajime squawks, his face in his hands, and resumes sobbing.

For a while, that's all he does.

He hears a chair move and then Nagito is gone, and then he's back with a whole pile of napkins. Hajime accepts them with unsteady hands. 

"U-Um."

The next thing he hears is that nervous stammer, and then his friend-not-friend does sling his arm around him and pulls him close. Hajime doesn't resist. His face bumps into his chest. The hug is awkward and a little too tight, and when Nagito starts patting his head, it's very much like he's patting a dog, but it also doesn't _not_ feel good.

It's all he can get. It's what he deserves.

The crying gets worse, until it slowly gets better.

At some point, he hears his own name whispered in a soft voice, and it makes him shiver.

As he calms down, he realizes that Nagito is shaking, too. And then he realizes that it's from pleasure. He gazes up at his face, and isn't surprised to see that he looks happy. Because he never responds appropriately, but probably also because Hajime has accepted his hug and has been bawling for about ten minutes without telling him to go away.

"Mm," he murmurs, straight into Hajime's hair, "Maybe you were right. Maybe sometimes it _is_ good when people feel bad."

Oh good.

There's no way this insight will possibly backfire.

He sighs and buries his face in his shirt again, for now.

"You two got room for one more? I mean…"

Hajime turns his head at the intrusion, and sees Teruteru's apple-cheeked face grin at them from the door. Crap, it must be so late by now that it's early.

Nagito doesn't react at all. "Not now, Teruteru," he says, still with that blissed-out look on his face, arms wrapped

_ (possessively) _

\- protectively around him.

"E-Erm…"  The cook, who's still scared of him, shuffles his feet. "W-Well, all right, I'll give you guys another half hour, but then I really gotta start. So don't take too long!"

He walks out again. It's kind of embarrassing, but Hajime decides to let it go. It's not like he's going to live this down, ever, anyway.

Ibuki's probably finished that song by now.

He feels the dumbest pang of regret as he finally disentangles himself from him, clumsily dabbing at his sore eyes with the palms of his hands.

"I -"

It's probably a bad move to admit it, but since they're being weird and honest already -

"I needed that."

He can't see, because he's still rubbing his face, but he can hear him breathe loudly, passionately through his nose at that, and that says quite enough.

His voice is like the lowest, warmest breeze. "What else do you need, Hajime…?"

There's only one possible answer. Hajime lowers his hands, and looks at him with the largest, most pleading eyes he can muster.

"I- I really need you to -"

Nagito's lips part slightly. Hajime shoves the plate back at him.

"Eat. This. Please."

***

"…so that means I'll be looking after you from now on, if that's okay. And… that's basically it."

They're walking side by side, heading back to their cottages to take a break before morning assembly. Nagito is nodding along with his explanation of the buddy system, nibbling on the red shiny apple Hajime has made him take for dessert because vitamins. A soft rain is falling, because weather is a thing again, too.

He seems unimpressed when Hajime finishes talking. He dumps the apple core into a trash bin.

"Hm."

"What?"

"Something about this doesn't sound right."

Hajime shoots him a surprised look. "Really? Why? I thought you'd -"

He'd really thought he'd like it. Shows what he knows. 

Nagito turns to face him. He has one finger on his chin, pondering. "You said you'd look after me. But wouldn't that mean I'm also supposed to look after you? You left that part out."

Yeah.

So he did.

Hajime scratches the back of his neck. "Oh, uh. About that -"

"That's not good, Hajime." Nagito frowns at him. "Please take this seriously. If we're going to be _buddies_ , we have to start from a place of honesty."

He infuses that stupid word with so much more meaning than Hajime has thought possible, and it reminds him that, despite of how smart he is, and despite of how screwed up he is, he likes things that are nice and pure and hold the promise of good things.

"Nagito, I'm fine. I don't really need anything -"

_ (from you) _

"That's not true!" Now he looks flat-out stern, which is always way more effective than Hajime expects it to be. The way he points back at the mess hall seems almost accusing. "I _saw_ it."

"Yeah…"

The word stretches into infinity while Hajime gives him a labored smile. "You did, didn't you."

"Look." Nagito raises his hands. "You don't have to say it. I know I'm largely useless. And besides, it's not good to get too close to me. But there must be something I can do."

"Sure, like… don't… starve…"

"Oh, here! I could clean your room for you. I'm decent at that, at least. That's a start, right…?" He seems disproportionally happy to have thought of that. As he keeps talking, he keeps stepping closer towards him until they're as close as no two people reasonably need to be.

"I could even do it while you're sleeping, so you don't have to see me. I can be quiet. You won't even know I'm there."

Hajime takes a decisive step back. "I don't like that," he says.

If this new stage of their… friendship is going to commence for real, it has to start from a place of honesty.

"No…?"  Nagito seems disappointed. But determined. "Well, I can do it during the day then. You can watch me. Or order me around, so I don't mess up. And I promise I won't look at your intimate possessions." He pauses, before he helpfully adds, "Unless you want me to."

Okay, now it starts suspiciously sounding like something he'd do for his own benefit, not his. But at the very least he does seem thoroughly distracted from things like the ones in the black bag Hajime is still holding. For now.

And, for now, that's all Hajime wants.

He smiles at him, and this time, it doesn't hurt his face to do it

"Here's something you can do. There's still time before the meeting. Try to lie down and get some rest, okay?" He only hesitates for a second before he says, "For me."

It has the intended effect. Nagito amicably tils his head at him, wearing a soft expression that can't be described as anything else but. Hopeful.

"Will you do the same?" He asks. "For… me?"

He's getting such a kick out of that last part, Hajime can tell. "I'll try," he promises.

He's halfway to is cottage when he hears his voice behind him one last time.

"Hey."

He turns around. Nagito stands in front of his own cottage, hand on the doorknob, looking pleased.

"I should thank my good luck that nobody cares about me," he says, smiling at him in a not-so-empty way. "Because if they did, you wouldn't have to."

"Ah -"

Hajime stands still, keycard already in hand.

In a sad, strange way, this is true.

But it's also -

It's not all there is.

He knows that now.

But he can't say it. Not yet, anyway. It'd be too much, for a night and morning that has been too much ever since it had started.

He offers him a lopsided, but genuine smile instead.  "Get some sleep," he says, before he turns around, even though he's pretty sure that Nagito isn't going to. And neither, he knows, is he.


End file.
